


Bath time

by Mishka10



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hair Washing, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:29:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27534541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mishka10/pseuds/Mishka10
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier share a warm bath and tired cuddles after a long day.Comfortable and soft, enjoying each others presence.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 90





	Bath time

Geralt is quiet that evening, not that such a thing was uncommon for the man. A comfortable quietness, that wraps softly round his shoulders, ebbing off into the air around him as he enters the room. Geralt pushes open the stubborn wooden door, kicking it aside when old hinges stick in place, heavy wood slowly scrapping across the floor as it goes. 

He steps in, rolls heavy shoulders, lets them settle comfortably. Head shifts side to side, neck cracking comfortably, a well-earned ache settled deep within.

Jaskier glances up when the Witcher enters, notes the gentle rest of the shoulders, heavy as they are, the soft light in Geralt’s eyes, a hint of a smile hidden beneath the smears of dirt and blood. It had been a good evening then, successful, if the red, soaked in and staining the man’s hair was anything to go by.

He catches Geralt’s eye, offers a comfortable nod in greeting before returning to his papers. He is slowly muddling his way through the writing of a new poem, or at least he had been trying to. He was finding the words hard to come by tonight, thoughts taking any excuse to wander off and land elsewhere. 

Like onto Geralt’s imposing form, the Witcher already set to slowly undressing on the other side of the room. Stiff buckles are loosened, worked open with slow and easy care. Thick leather worked off sore shoulders, heavy and stiff. Set down with care, blood left to settle deep into the fabric, he will deal with scrubbing off the mess at a later time.

Geralt rolls his shoulders again, enjoying the feeling, the lack of weight. He plucks at his shirt, slick to his skin with sweat and muck. Blood, dirt, and grime all pooled together, gluing the fabric to his skin.

Across the room Jaskier wrinkles his nose at the stench, the heavy musk of sweat and blood quickly filling the air, thick and weighted, sticking to everything it can find.

Geralt doesn’t take notice of Jaskier’s quiet grumblings, focused instead on working free the stubborn buttons on his shirt, stiff fabric working against his efforts. Buttons finally lose he peels the fabric away from his skin, lets the shirt rest where it falls, the darkness of the fabric will hide the stains well enough, it is not the time to argue with half dried blood just yet.

Jaskier’s eyes wander from his page, watching Geralt as he ambles shirtless across the room to sit on the edge of the small bed. Geralt’s chest has a shine to it, soaked with sweat as it is, blood still sluggishly dripping free of the odd cut and scrape.

Geralt stretches, twists, lets muscles pull and turn, unknot themselves as best they can, eyes flicking over, catching Jaskier’s gaze for a moment before the bard looks away, managing to drag his eyes back to his paper, even if his mind may not follow.

Geralt raises an unseen eyebrow as Jaskier turns back, not missing the glint in the bard’s eye. He shakes it off, focuses on his boots, soaked laces firm and stuck, knots needing to be yanked loose, nails digging into the cord.

Finally, boots undone, pulled off and tossed aside, he starts on removing his pants. 

Jaskier finds his eyes wandering from his pen and paper once more as Geralt undoes his belt, eyes tracing along the Witcher’s broad shoulders, across the blood-stained chest, to end on the man’s clever hands, where they are set, working open the belt buckle with ease. 

He looks away before it falls open, he has a poem to complete, he doesn’t have time to get distracted.

Geralt unties his pants, letting the front fall open. He stands, shifts the pants off his hips, the fabric stiff, stuck uncomfortably to his skin, slick with sweat. Focuses on peeling them off, as set as they are on sticking to his skin, fabric determinedly fighting against his efforts.

He pretends not to notice the little sideways glances Jaskier shoots him ever so often as he does.

Finally tugged free he kicks them aside, lets them crumple into a heap, just another thing to return to in the morning.

The bath is still warm. He trails a hand through the water, feels the gentle brush against his skin, warm and soft and welcoming. Gods so welcoming.

Geralt settles in slowly, warm water splashing up, pressing against sore muscles, soaking into the skin.

The position of the bath gives Jaskier a clear view of Geralt’s back as he lowers his body into the water. A clear view of Geralt’s well sculpted behind before it disappears beneath the rim of the tub, not that he was watching, he has work to focus on, he swears.

Although… thoughts of work do seem to slip further and further out of reach, as he watches the Witcher’s back, watches muscles shift, tension slowly bleeding out of them, body relaxing under the soft touch of the warm water.

Geralt lets himself sit for a moment. Lets the water wash over him, already beginning to chip away at the splattering’s of blood and dirt and sweat, whisk the mess from his skin, free to swirl in the clear water instead.

He feels the insistent push of it against his body, against aching muscles, slowly teased apart, by the warmth, the weight, lifting heavy limps, wrapping them around in a soft cocoon. Gentle, comfortable in a way his world rarely is.

He tips his head back, lets tired eyes fall shut, breathes in the steam trailing off the surface of the water, lets the soft warmth flood into his lungs, calm his chest and breath along with the rest of him.

He breathes it in for a moment, lets it sit and soak into every pore.

Behind him Jaskier’s paper has almost fully been abandoned, quill twirling uselessly between the bard’s fingers, mind busy crafting other poems about glistening muscles, strong and firm… stories he could never publish as much as he may enjoy them.

Geralt sighs, heavy and low, chest heaving at the move. A comfortable weight, solid and stable.

He shifts, gives himself a few more seconds to breathe before raising a tired head, dragging lazy eyes back open. A wandering hand finding the rag resting on the edge of the tub, he gets to work scrubbing free the rest of the blood and mess from his skin. 

The gaze of Jaskier’s eyes is hot on Geralt’s back, watching the muscles shifting under the skin, stretch, the strength, a beautiful distraction.

Geralt lets his mind wander as he works. It is almost methodical, part by part he scrubs, slow and steady, taking his time to find each splatter, each messy dribble and wipe it clear from his skin. Wipe clean the sins of the day. The blood and death and mess. Wiped away with such simple ease.

He is so focused on his task he almost misses the rustled sound of movement from behind him. Almost misses the quiet whisper of buttons sliding open, soft cloth spilling off slender shoulders, rested carefully across the back of the chair.

The gentle thud of a pair of trousers landing on well worn wooden floors is however, harder to miss. He pauses for half a second, considers turning, saying something, disrupting the quiet stillness of the room himself before Jaskier gets the chance to ruin it.

He decides against it. Decides to pretend he doesn’t hear the soft sound of bare feet slowly approaching. Instead, he focuses on his work. Focuses on scrubbing clean his skin, shifting off as much of the mess as he can before his bath is disrupted.

Jaskier slowly rounds the side of the bath, hand trailing along the rim of the tub, almost brushing against Geralt’s arm. He holds back from looking up as Jaskier moves into his range of vision, holds back from taking in the site, soaking in the view of Jaskier’s bare body…

He keeps his eyes on his arm. On the blood.

He does, however, shift his legs. Let them fall to the side, knees bent slightly, leaving a space free between them.

Jaskier splashes as he gets in. climbing in quick and messy, almost slipping, but catching himself on the edge of the tub. He laughs, water sloshing up, over the edge of the tub, spilling out onto the dusty wooden floor.

Jaskier shifts, sloshing the water around further as he settles, folding himself up into the available space, although perhaps not as carefully as he could. Jaskier lets his legs rest against Geralt’s, comfortably knocking together as they sit.

Geralt grumbles quietly but makes no further comment. 

He is almost surprised Jaskier manages to stay quiet as long as he does, just sitting, watching Geralt scrub free the rest of the muck from his skin. Watches him drag the wet cloth across his chest, careful to get each cut and scrape, each stain of red, scrub them clean, eyes carefully following each movement, but no comments made.

It is only once he is almost done, only just scraping off the last of the muck, letting the water splash up over his chest to clear away the last of it that Jaskier speaks, “I can do your hair.”

Geralt grunts, lip curling slightly, but offers no further answer.

Jaskier shifts closer, water shifting with him, little ripples sent out, lapping against Geralt’s skin, “here, let me do it.”

Geralt sighs, opens his mouth to grumble back, but somehow Jaskier’s gentle fingers had already found their way to his scalp, softly running through the Witcher’s hair, tugging against each knot.

Geralt groans at the touch, complaints caught in his throat. He hums, head tilting forward, down, letting Jaskier continue.

Jaskier takes his time, working free each knot, cleaning out the blood and dirt, picking free the odd twig or two when he finds it. Geralt tilts, shifts, pressing back comfortably against the touch of Jaskier’s fingers. 

Hair finally clean Jaskier hands slowly trail down, wrists resting comfortably for a moment against Geralt’s shoulders, foreheads almost pressed together, sharing the air between them for a quiet moment.

Jaskier lets his hands shift slowly down Geralt’s arms, offering them a soft squeeze before dropping down, resting them comfortably on the side of the tub, leaning back out of Geralt’s space with a gentle laugh.

Geralt watches Jaskier’s head tip back with the move, unable to stop himself from staring at the bard’s delicate neck.

Jaskier tips his head back, meeting Geralt’s gaze, offering a light smile, soft and gentle. _Genuine_.

Geralt smiles back, hand lifting almost without his control to cup Jaskier’s jaw, thumb rubs slightly over the bard’s skin, pausing for a moment against the edge of Jaskier’s lips before dropping away.

Jaskier presses back into the touch, firm and comfortable as it is, letting his eyes slide shut for a moment, letting himself just exist.

He lets his eyes fall open, lets himself follow Geralt’s curled, encouraging touch, tipping forward, to press their mouths together, soft but firm.

Geralt presses back, hand sliding down, around the back of Jaskier’s neck, holding him close.

Jaskier breaks the kiss, but doesn’t pull away for a moment longer, lets them stay pressed together instead, breath panting out, and rested against Geralt’s shifting chest.

He sighs softly, finally sitting back when he feels Geralt start to shift against him.

Geralt stands first. Just standing for a moment, eyes still staring down at Jaskier, the bard meeting his gaze only for a moment before flicking down, across Geralt’s bare chest, dipping lower for only a moment before darting back to the safety of Geralt’s face.

Geralt carefully swings a leg over the side of the tub, takes the care to keep himself steady, hand held firm to the side of the bath as he climbs out, wanders back towards the bed.

Jaskier sits back against the back of the tub, feels the edge digging into his back, the slowly cooling water lapping against his skin. He watches Geralt go, soaking in the site, not bothering to hide his gaze any further. Not that Geralt notices, not turning to catch Jaskier’s eye.

Instead Jaskier is free to gaze, free to stare at the broad shoulders, firm back. He can’t help but think what a beautiful body it is, truly almost perfect, in every way.

Jaskier lets his eyes drop closed as Geralt moves to tug on a shirt, having no interest in watching the man hide that beautiful site under stained fabric.

Focusing on the image of Geralt’s bare back, still so clear in his mind.

He is not sure how long he sits there, before a soft touch brushes against his forehead, opens his eyes to find Geralt standing over him, gentle hand trailing against his skin before running through Jaskier’s hair. Geralt’s voice is soft, “let me do your hair.”

Jaskier huffs out a half-chuckled laugh. He nods, ducking his head down for a moment, letting the water soak into it before surfacing again.

By the time Jaskier raises his head from the water again Geralt has settled comfortably behind him, kneeling behind the tub. The touch is soft, gently working through the bard’s hair. It is an easier job then Geralt’s had been, no blood to scrape free, no twigs to find, only the odd knot to untangle, to work free.

Knots tugged free, Jaskier lets Geralt push his head back down into the water, lets his eyes fall shut, leans back and lets the world fall quiet for a moment. Everything muffled, hidden by the water, pressing in at every side.

Jaskier raises back up slowly, sitting up in the tub. He runs a hand through his own hair, water sent flicking off, shaken free.

From behind him Jaskier hears Geralt hum, he turns, accepts the hand reaching out towards him, accepts the help in getting up, carefully climbing free of the tub. Floor cold under bare feet, Jaskier shivers at the bite of the cold air, sharp and cutting against his skin.

The towel seems to almost materialise around his shoulders, wrapped around tight and warm, Geralt’s firm arms coming with it, wrapping around his waist, pressing tight against him. Geralt rests his head against Jaskier’s shoulder, offering a soft hum, a hum Jaskier feels in his body, feels the soft vibrations in Geralt’s chest, pressed as close behind him as it is.

Jaskier lets his head tip back, turning to catch Geralt’s lips once more, in a brief, chaste kiss. Brief for how uncomfortable the position is, not willing to maintain it for long, neck already threatening to cramp.

Instead Jaskier turns back forward, lets it tip to the side, rest comfortably against Geralt’s, just breathing for a moment, feeling the warmth radiating off the Witcher’s body. Geralt offers a soft squeeze around his waist, soft and comfortable, voice soft and low in Jaskier’s ear, “mmm, bed?”

Jaskier nods, bed sounds good, wrapped up soft and warm, curled under clean sheets…

Jaskier lets Geralt tug him forward, collapse comfortably against the bed with a heavy thud, feels Geralt thump down beside him, arm still slung comfortably around Jaskier’s hip, holding him close. Jaskier groans, curls in closer, feeling the weight of the day slowly bleed out of his body, a comfortable exhaustion settled in his bones.

Truly, a worthy end to a long day.

**Author's Note:**

> this was gonna be porn but then it just... didn't go that way,  
> -thanks for reading-


End file.
